


Sleep in Heavenly Peace

by jncar



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncar/pseuds/jncar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the year after Pan’s curse Hook is surprised when some of his crewmen—feeling nostalgic for their time in Storybrooke—throw an impromptu Christmas celebration. A short while after returning from the Underworld Killian uses his memories of that odd celebration to help him get into the spirit for his first Christmas in his new life with Emma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Killian saw her again, her eyes red from crying as she stood at that damned town line. Every time he saw her like that he struggled to find a way to change things—a way to explain to her in the scant seconds they had left how much she’d changed him. How in the short time he knew her he came to feel like he could still become the kind of man he’d dreamed of being as a boy. That he could still be a hero.

Or better yet, he tried to find a way to cross the line with her. A way to convince her to let him come.

But every time it ended the same way. Emma turned away from him, got into that bizarre yellow craft of hers, and drove away while billows of magic engulfed him, sweeping him back to the Enchanted Forest. Back to the knowledge that any dreams he had of being more than what he was were as fleeting as a snowflake landing on a warm lamp and as fruitless as his long, long life.

He woke with an ache in his neck and a pain in his heart as fresh as the day he said goodbye to her. When would these bloody dreams stop plaguing him? Would he ever be free of her?

Though it was early yet, he had no more desire for sleep. He rolled out of bed and shrugged into his clothes before heading up to the deck.

It was just past dawn, and a few men were already out sweeping fresh snow off of the deck. The sky was still heavy with clouds, though the snow had let up at least for the time being. He shivered in the brisk air and set to work.

This was the second time in as many months that they’d been trapped at port by a snowstorm. There were moments when he half-wondered if that bloody mermaid had called some fell magic down on him for his betrayal. He wouldn’t hold it against her if she had. But the foul weather did make for some long, cold, dull days while they were trapped in towns with limited entertainments and even fewer opportunities for profit.

This was their fourth day in this particular town, and if there was no more snow by midday he had hopes of shipping out. But if the storm started up again they’d be stuck. He wasn’t fool enough to sail blind into poor weather when he didn’t have to.

Though the Jolly was cleaned up and in sailing shape within a few hours, by then the snow had started again, even heavier than before.

With a sigh and a huff Killian organized a new duty schedule for sweeping away the snow, and let the men go for more shore leave when not on duty. No point in keeping them cooped up aboard ship at a time like this. But he’d had more than enough of the only two pubs in town. Instead he huddled in his cabin near his small stove and tried to lose himself in an old favorite book.

He was surprised when a scant hour later the sound of several of the off-duty men returning to the ship in high spirits filtered down to his cabin, and even more surprised by the knock on his door.

His book had been doing little to entertain him so he wasn’t bothered by the interruption. Instead he was intrigued to see a strange collection of three men standing outside his door. Smee was joined by the ship’s cook, Dugan, a grizzled fellow who was as short as one of Lady Snow’s dwarves and couldn’t be a day younger than fifty, and young Riley—a promising lad who’d only joined the crew after Pan’s curse, unlike the others who’d been to Neverland and back.

All of them wore nearly identical smiles on their faces.

“What is it?” Killian asked.

Smee stepped forward. “Captain, we just learned that the whole town is preparing to celebrate Christmas next week! And I know we won’t be here that long, but all of us got thinking that we’d like to have a Christmas, too, and today’s as good as any. So we’d like permission to have a Christmas party tonight.”

Killian frowned at all the gibberish coming out of Smee’s mouth. “What the bloody hell is Christmas and why should we have a party for it?”

“He wasn’t in Storybrooke for Christmas, mates. He don’t understand,” rumbled Dugan, who then looked to Killian. “Captain—Christmas was one ‘o the best bits about livin’ in that realm. All the wreaths and garlands and sparkly lights…”

“And the candy and presents!” added Smee.

“And the music. All the wonderful music,” said Riley wistfully.

“And the ham. And mashed potatoes. And pie. And hot buttered rolls. And eggnog. Lord, I miss Christmas dinner,” said Smee.

“So this Christmas is some sort of feast?” Killian asked, bemused at the men’s excitement.

“Sort of,” said Dugan. “See, Christmas is an holiday back in that realm t’ celebrate the birth o’ one o’ their gods, though that part gets a bit overshadowed by the flying reindeer an’ the fat man in red bringing presents t’ all the good girls and boys.”

Since when could reindeer fly? And what fat man? Were they all losing their minds? They must have seen the bewildered look on his face, because Smee jumped in to clarify.

“You don’t have to worry about any of that, Captain,” he said. “We’d just like to have a bit of a feast. Maybe put up a few decorations in the mess, eat good food, sing some songs, and exchange gifts. Those are the traditions that translate best to this realm.”

“Hmmm.” Killian pondered their request. In spite of regaining his ship, the past few months had been rather dreary. They could all use some merriment. “Very well. We can have your feast. I’ll give you some extra coin for the provisions, but if you want more than what my allotment can afford, it’s coming out of your own pockets. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir!” 

After handing over the coins Killian watched them walk away with a fresh bounce in their steps. Yes—this feast seemed to be just the thing to raise morale, even if he still had no bleeding clue what Christmas was.

For the next few hours he watched from the fringes as his crew began to bustle back and forth between town and ship carrying packages and provisions. Every once in awhile he’d step forward to command those on snow-duty to keep up their work. But he was far more interested in the sight of Dugan, with a few recruited helpers, setting to work roasting several hams and baking some fresh loaves. And Smee and Riley were intent on draping the mess in pine boughs, bits of ribbon, and a few shiny baubles they must have bought special from the town. None of it made any sense, but they all seemed to be enjoying themselves so much that Killian felt his own spirits lift along with those of his men.

By dusk the feast was ready and laid out in the mess. The sight of the bounty of food that Dugan had managed to produce made Killian’s mouth water. It had been a long time since any of them had eaten so well. He was starting to like this Christmas thing.

The snow had slowed to almost nothing no so he even granted permission for those on snow duty to join in the feast—nothing built morale like special favors from the captain.

As they all enjoyed the food (Dugan really outdid himself this time), the men started swapping stories of their time spent in Storybrooke. Killian fell silent as they spoke. He’d never cared to listen to their reminiscences of time in that realm because it brought back the memories of the second chance he’d so abruptly lost. But tonight, he let himself listen.

They talked of the strange technologies and conveniences that they missed. Of friends they’d lost when their memories were restored. Of love affairs and fruitless infatuations. Of jobs and homes and families once more left behind for life at sea.

That world sounded like a good one. A place where Emma and her boy could thrive. He hoped that wherever they were that night, that they were happy. She deserved that much, after the life she’d led.

Killian’s temporary melancholy lifted when the men exchanged storytelling for song. A bloke named Keaton pulled out a fiddle and Riley brought out a guitar, and the two began leading the crew in a seemingly endless supply of Christmas festival music. The realm without magic seemed to love serenading this young god of theirs. Though Killian still couldn’t piece together how the magic reindeer and fat, gift-giving saint had anything to do with the holy child. Perhaps they were lesser gods, or servants of the god? No matter. The music, for the most part, was excellent. Enough to lift anyone’s spirits, no matter how nonsensical some of it was. (What exactly was a Christmas tree, and how did one go about rocking around it?)

As the men sang they also began exchanging gifts. Small things—trifles and trinkets—but all seemed delighted to give and receive. He saw flasks, gloves, scarves, and even socks being received as if they were great treasures. It was more than enough to bring a smile to his face.

Once all the other gifts were given Smee, Dugan and Riley approached Killian, and the crew fell into a hush.

“Captain,” said Smee, holding out a small canvas-wrapped bundled tied closed with a white ribbon. “We all pitched in and got this for you. Merry Christmas.”

Killian raised an eyebrow, but took the package with a smile. He tugged open the bow and unfolded the canvas. Inside he discovered a fine red silk scarf, and when he lifted it he saw rows of snowflake motifs embroidered on either end of the scarf in white and silver thread. Did his men honestly expect him to wear this gaudy thing?

He lifted his eyes to see the expectant grins of all the crew as they stared at him. He hadn’t seen his men so happy in ages—who was he to ruin the mood?

He smiled and draped the scarf around his neck. “It’s magnificent. Thank you.”

The men all erupted in cheers, and Killian’s heart swelled. This Christmas idea was working out far better than he’d ever expected. “And my gift for you,” he called out, “a triple ration of rum for everyone!” The cheers for this were even louder.

Keaton and Riley struck up their music again and the men sang heartily as they enjoyed their sudden bounty of rum.

Killian once more fell back to the fringes, watching the merriment without really joining in. This festival was something all of them shared from their other lives. The lives he knew so little about. They might have tried to include him, but he would never truly belong.

As the night wore on the musicians turned to softer, gentler melodies. The voices of the crew fell away one by one until only the sound of the fiddle and guitar remained. And then Keaton stopped his fiddling altogether. Riley started a new, heartfelt tune on his guitar and raised his voice to sing.

Riley couldn’t be older than nineteen, and his clear, rich voice rang out like a fairy song. Killian’s heart stirred as the lad sang.

_“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright”_

If only Killian could have a night like that—silent and special with no dark thoughts to trouble him.

Though the lyrics about the god-child meant little to him, the melody continued to stir his soul, and the final refrain lingered in his mind.

_“Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.”_

It had been so long since he’d been able to do any such thing.

Riley continued on to another verse, but Killian had heard enough. He slipped out of the mess as quietly as he could and headed up to the deck.

The snow had stopped falling sometime during the feast, leaving only a thin blanket of powder on the deck and rails. And the clouds had finally parted to reveal a bottomless starry sky.

At times like this, left alone with his thoughts, he wondered if Emma and her boy were out there somewhere staring up at a sky just like this one, searching for whatever it was that they’d lost that left a hole in their hearts, but unable to break through the spell to remember it.

If she could remember, would she think of him? Would she wonder about him the way he wondered about her?

But none of that really mattered. She didn’t remember, and never would. It was as if he’d never existed.

There would be no peace for him tonight.

He stomped back to his cabin and pulled the ridiculous scarf off of his neck. He wadded it into a ball and shoved it into the back corner of one of his storage compartments. Christmas had been a mistake—one he wouldn’t indulge in again.

After another night of bad dreams and restless sleep he woke to find the sky still clear, and within a few hours they set sail, heading for warmer climes and leaving all thoughts of Christmas far behind them.

~*~

He started awake with a gasp, his heart pounding, and blinked up at the dark ceiling trying to remember who he was and what he was doing.

And then Emma, by now used to his nightmares, slid her arm across his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Her whispered reassurance was enough to bring him back to himself—Killian Jones, brought back from the Underworld by his true love, sleeping in his own bed in the house they now shared. That was who he was now.

The nightmares didn’t agree. They’d started a week after his return, and two months later they still plagued him three or four nights a week. They always started the same—on the Jolly, staring out at the open ocean and losing himself in the power of the waves and wind. That part was pleasant enough, but it never lasted long.

Every time the nightmares came he’d relive another murder—another moment from his villainous past when he took a life. He’d see their faces—see the fear in their eyes—hear their screams or choked cries—feel the blood warm on his hands.

All of the people of Storybrooke called him a hero, now. They’d all forgiven him. Emma had forgiven him. Even Liam had forgiven him. But he still wasn’t sure if he could ever fully forgive himself.

Soon enough Emma’s breathing slowed and her limp head fell back to her pillow as sleep took her once again.

Dawn would come soon, and he knew there was no more hope of falling asleep. He carefully pulled out of her loose embrace and slipped out of bed.

In the bathroom he washed his face, the cool water wiping away any last traces of fatigue. He stood for a moment staring at himself in the mirror. No matter how many times he saw his new scars—one on his neck and one just under his heart—he still wasn’t used to them. How could a man ever get used to seeing his death wounds on his flesh every day?

He sighed and flipped off the light. He grabbed a tee shirt from his drawer before heading downstairs to start a pot of coffee. He’d gotten quite good at making coffee—a necessity seeing as he was inevitably the first one up every morning.

Once his coffee was ready he carried his mug to the living room and sat staring at the Christmas tree that dominated the space in front of the window. It was December 23rd, and David and Mary Margaret and Henry had helped them pick out the tree and set it up last weekend. They’d all smiled and laughed and chattered happily as they decked the thing in twinkling lights and gaudy glass balls and shiny lengths of ribbon. It looked pretty enough, he supposed, as it sat there glowing in front of the window with the snow-decked landscape visible outside behind it.

Pretty, but he still didn’t really understand what all the bother was about. Perhaps Christmas was one of those parts of this realm that he’d never fully understand, and he’d simply have to live with that fact.

A decent-sized pile of wrapped gifts sat beneath the tree, their shiny paper gleaming in the early morning light.

The gifts to Emma didn’t surprise him—everyone in this town owed her their lives several times over. She deserved all the bloody presents they chose to shower on her.

It was the presents for him that still felt odd. The packages from David and Mary Margaret, and another from Henry, weren’t too surprising. He was very nearly a member of the family now, so obligations for that sort of thing had kicked in. But then, two days ago, Regina had delivered gifts for both Emma and him. And later that day Granny handed him a wrapped gift with a wink and a smile (he wasn’t certain she ever got around to giving one to Emma). In spite of the personal difficulties she’d been facing since Rumple’s latest treachery, Belle had still given him a gift—undoubtedly a book. And Tink offered him a small gift bag that shed glitter every time he moved it yesterday morning. Most surprising, the dwarves had shown up en masse yesterday evening to offer up two sets of seven gifts to sit under the tree—seven of various sizes and shapes for Emma, and seven identical flat rectangle boxes for Killian. After they’d left Emma murmured to him that Doc had asked for his shirt size a few days earlier, and that the boxes looked very much like shirt boxes. Apparently his wardrobe was about to expand.

A part of his mind still nagged that all the sentiment was just because of his association with Emma. Or perhaps a lingering sense of gratitude for the sacrifice he made while trying to banish the Dark One for good ( _damnable crocodile_ ).

But at times he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d given him the gifts simply because they liked him. Because they considered him a friend.

It seemed a remote possibility, but one that left him a bit overwhelmed. He’d never been much for friends. He’d had Liam and a few casual chums amongst his fellow officers—though never any he was close to—and then he’d been a captain. He’d gotten on well enough with his crewmen, but it wasn’t quite like having friends.

Was that what he was now? A friend?

He continued staring at the tree, lost in thought, until Emma strolled into the room, her own mug of coffee in hand, and leaned over to place a kiss on his temple. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, darling,” he replied, smiling. This was one thing about his new life that felt absolutely right—the casual intimacies and relaxed peace of sharing his life and his heart with the woman he loved.

As they sat together eating breakfast Emma reviewed their schedule for the next few days. They were to finish their Christmas shopping today, and work on delivering the gifts that evening and the next morning. Henry would spend the night with them that night (they intended to watch one or two of the Marvel movies he was so fond of), but he would spend all of the twenty-fourth with Regina and Robin. Killian and Emma were to have a Christmas Eve dinner with Emma’s parents, and then, midmorning on Christmas day, Henry would join them to open gifts. Christmas afternoon they’d all meet at Mary Margaret’s home for yet another feast, this one with friends as well as family. It amazed him how much more involved this Christmas thing was then he’d ever assumed before a few weeks ago.

“So we really have to dine with your parents two days in a row? We already have dinner with them every Sunday—it’s not as if we don’t see them often.”

Emma shot him a tight-lipped glare. “Could you at least pretend to be getting into the Christmas spirit?”

“I would if anyone could actually succeed in explaining what the Christmas spirit _is_. The whole thing is so nebulous I can’t make proper sense of it.”

“It’s not supposed to make sense.” Emma huffed. “It’s just Christmas! It’s about giving to others and spending time with the people we love.”

“We do that every day,” he replied.

She threw her hands up in the air and shook her head. “It’s not the same.”

They’d been having variations of this same conversation for a few weeks now—like when Emma arranged the day for purchasing and decorating the tree. And again when she spent hours slaving in the kitchen baking piles of cookies to give away when store-bought would have been just as good. Or when she insisted he pick out his own presents to give to people instead of simply adding his name to her packages.

“I just…” She seemed ready to work herself into another frenzy. But then she took a few breaths and her shoulders sagged. “Okay. You don’t get Christmas. You’ve never had it before, and it doesn’t make sense to you. I understand that. But here’s the thing—Christmas is a big deal here. And I’ve never really had it before.”

He raised an eyebrow. But everyone here seemed to know everything about Christmas—Emma included? “What do you mean?”

She took a deep breath. “This is something I don’t like talking about, but… growing up in foster care Christmas always made me feel worse. More alone. When all the other kids in school would be excited for Christmas break to hang out with their families and go on trips and get presents, all I had to look forward to was a token gift or two from my latest foster parents, or sometimes just a few things that got donated to charities who gave presents to needy kids. I didn’t get the big family gatherings, or the elaborate Christmas dinners, or the huge stacks of presents. That wasn’t my life. Even my first Christmas here in town was right after the old sheriff died and I’d just taken over the job. I spent that Christmas alone in my patrol car driving the streets to make sure there was no trouble. And I had a Christmas last year, but it was just me and Henry in New York with a dinner I’d ordered from a local restaurant and a tiny fake tree as high as my waist. This is my first shot at the kind of big family Christmas I always dreamed about as a kid. And I know you don’t mean to do it, but it really makes me feel crappy when you act like it doesn’t matter, because it _does_ matter. It matters to me. A lot.” He saw a glimmer of rising tears in her eyes and immediately felt like an utter arsehole.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hands in his. “I didn’t understand. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder from here on out—I promise.”

“Okay.” She swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Now—let’s finish up this breakfast. Don’t we have some shopping to do?”

She grinned. He may not be entirely forgiven, yet. But he’d do his damnedest for the rest of the day to figure out why this Christmas thing meant so much to her. And then maybe he could make things right.

Emma only had two more gifts to buy, but Killian still had several people to buy for. It was time to start thinking harder. 

He finally came up with an idea for David when they passed the auto supply store. He ran in and procured a container of the finest automotive wax they had (according to the store clerk) for David’s truck. And while Emma was looking for a gift for Regina, he purchased a set of bookends sculpted to look like leaping dolphins for Belle. For the dwarves he selected a set of matching beer mugs. And for little Neal he picked out a cartoonish plastic crocodile with musical chimes running down its back. The lad could make quite a racket for his parents with that toy.

Henry was the last person he needed to shop for. The obvious choice—a leather bound journal—would undoubtedly be gifted to the boy by at least two other friends. His mothers were showering him with the latest electronic gadgets. And Killian had no idea what sort of books or music the lad might enjoy. He was running out of ideas.

He cast his mind back through his memories, searching for the answer. That’s when he recalled his first Christmas—the impromptu celebration his men threw aboard the Jolly Roger.

That day the men hadn’t been overly concerned about impressing one another. The gifts meant something because they came from friends—not because of what they were. And all of them to a man had spent the feast telling stories of families and friends from their past that they missed. Christmas was about family and other loved ones, so Emma said.

That’s when the perfect idea came to him. “Love?” he said, interrupting Emma as she scanned shelves in the home décor store.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any pictures of Henry’s father? I was thinking perhaps he’d like one—in a nice frame—to help him remember.”

Emma’s eyes were wide, her face frozen and stunned. Killian swallowed a lump in his throat. Had he overstepped his bounds?

Then she spoke. “That’s absolutely perfect. Thank you for thinking of it. Go ahead and pick out a frame. I’ll find a picture. Okay?” She smiled, looking radiant.

So. Perhaps he was beginning to understand the mysterious Christmas spirit at last.

In their final shop of the day Killian came across a rack of Christmas-themed knit scarves, most of them decked in snowflake motifs. Again the memory of that Christmas aboard the Roger came back to him. Dugan and Smee and Riley had worked so hard to make that celebration matter. He remembered the looks on all their faces when they gave him his own holiday scarf—a gift he’d promptly discarded. They’d deserved better than that. 

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

He picked out three of the scarves and brought them up to the counter to purchase. Emma raised her eyebrows in curiosity. “Who are those for?”

He shrugged. “Just some old friends.”

“Hmmm.” She didn’t press for more, and he was glad. He had no idea where Dugan or Riley might be in this town, and his last encounter with Smee had ended badly. He wasn’t sure he could even go through with it.

Later, at home, they spent a few hours together wrapping and labeling their packages, and then another hour delivering about half of them before picking up Henry for their movie night.

Halfway through Captain America, Killian stepped out and called Belle. She had access to town records on her searching computer. When he told her what he wanted to do she was happy to help. A few minutes later he picked up a pen and paper to scratch down the addresses that she found.

“I hope you find your friends, Killian,” said Belle. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

“They’re not my—” He stopped himself. He may never have been _their_ friend during his time as captain, but they’d all certainly been his. “Yes, uh. Thank you. I appreciate your help. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Killian,” she replied, her voice warm with affection.

His dreams were disturbing that night, but not enough to wake him before dawn. Even so, he was up with fresh coffee ready, making eggs for breakfast, when Emma and Henry both stumbled out of bed.

After they dropped off Henry they finished delivering the last of their gifts. Or, at least the last of the gifts that Emma knew about.

“Sweetheart—can we stop by the harbor? There are a few items I need to collect from my ship.”

She looked surprised, but withheld comment. “Sure. We can do that.”

Killian didn’t visit his ship every day anymore. Not since moving in with Emma. It was odd—the Roger had been his home for so long, but now she felt lonely and isolated. He couldn’t imagine spending another night here alone. Not now that he had something better.

Emma watched as he rummaged through two of his storage compartments before he finally found what he was looking for. He pulled out the red silk scarf and shook it out. It was wrinkled and smelled a bit musty, but nothing a quick toss in Emma’s amazing clothes drying machine couldn’t fix.

“What in the world…?” Emma stared at the scarf.

“It was a present. My very first Christmas present from a few old friends. Friends I’ve neglected since coming to Storybrooke. But Christmastime is for old friends as well as new, isn’t it?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes glowing. “It is. And when did you get a Christmas present?”

“Ah—well. It was during the year back in the Enchanted Forest, while you were in New York. Most of my crew had been in Storybrooke and they all had fond memories of Christmas, so I gave them permission to throw a Christmas celebration down in the mess.”

Emma laughed. “I can hardly imagine a whole crew full of pirates crammed in there to celebrate Christmas.”

“Well, it happened. There were decorations and a ham dinner. They all exchanged gifts, and then sang Christmas songs while drinking rum late into the night. I didn’t understand their enthusiasm for the holiday at the time—but I’m starting to. A few of the men bought me this scarf. I’ve not worn it since.”

Emma’s smile was filled with wonder. Something about his story pleased her, and that was enough to make him happy as well.

“We can clean it up a little so you can wear it tonight,” she said softly.

“Good. And I’ve a few more bottles of the Enchanted Forest’s finest rum stashed in here. I think those along with the scarves will do nicely for the men who got me this,” he waved the scarf, “don’t you think?”

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve heard in days,” she replied with complete sincerity.

Back at home Emma freshened up the scarf while he found appropriate gift bags for the scarves and rum. He was tucking the last of the tissue paper in around the gifts when Emma returned with his scarf looking as good as new.

He smiled, his heart swelling in his chest. “Thank you. Now—do you think we can get these dropped off before we head over to your parents’?” He wanted to do it soon, before he lost his nerve.

“Sure,” replied Emma with a nod.

They both donned their winter coats and Killian wrapped the red silk scarf around his neck so that the embroidered snowflakes fell prominently over his chest. He felt more than a bit silly, but everyone else in town was wearing equally ridiculous garments this past week, so he fit right in.

First he guided Emma to Dugan’s home—a large house not far from the harbor which rang with the shouts and laughter of children as they approached. 

Killian carried the gift bag on his hook and squeezed Emma’s hand. He’d always been a captain to these men. How in the world was he supposed to be a friend? This was all a big mistake. But they were already on the porch and Emma was reaching out to ring the bell. It was too late to back out now.

After a few more youthful shouts and squeals rang out inside—as well as several loud thumps—the door finally opened.

Dugan stood there in jeans and a flannel shirt, a girl no older than five riding on his back with her arms around his neck.

When he saw them his jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. Killian’s heart froze for a moment. And then Dugan’s face blossomed into a grin. “Captain! My god. Never thought I’d see you again now tha’ you’ve taken up wi’ the royals an all. But here you are! God damn it’s good to see you.”

“Rudy, you’re not supposed to use cusses,” the little girl said in a loud whisper. “Mom’ll get mad at you.”

Dugan chuckled loudly and set the girl down. “Don’t worry, pet. I was just a bit surprised by me old friend here. I promise I won’t say any more cusses today, eh?”

“Okay.” The girl shot him a beaming smile before running back into the house toward the sounds of chaos further back.

Killian swallowed hard. This was certainly not what he’d expected.

Dugan looked up at him again and shook his head. “Well, captain, you look mighty fine for a fellow who got ‘imself impaled and had to be dragged out o’ hell by his lady love—I’m guessing that’s you, milady.”

Emma grinned, while Killian felt his face getting warm.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m Emma. Pleased to meet you.” She reached out to shake Dugan’s hand.

He gripped her hand with both of his and shook it firmly. “Rudolf Dugan at your service.”

“Good lord, man—your given name is Rudolf?” exclaimed Killian—the first words he’d mustered since the door opened. “Like that bloody bright-nosed reindeer?”

Dugan guffawed and then wheeze. “Oh, aye. The kids still haven’t let me hear the end of it. So good to see you. Really, captain. When I heard about you getting’ killed an all I was in a blue funk for days. But here you are!” He turned back to Emma. “Good on you for goin’ after him, lass. I do like a woman who knows her own mind.”

He glanced back at Killian. “I wish my missus was here. She’d love to meet you.”

Still feeling decidedly off-balance—though in a happy way—Killian said, “I never took you for a family man.”

“Oh, I never thought I’d be, either,” Dugan replied. “Not until I met my old woman. She tells me she knew I was the one for her the first day she set eyes on me, and she made sure I came ‘round to her way of thinking right quick. But I do love it—and her.”

Killian smiled in astonishment. It seemed he wasn’t the only member of the old crew who’d found a happy ending in Storybrooke. “I’m so glad to hear it, Dugan. Truly.”

A fresh wave of shouts echoed through the open door. “It sounds like you have quite the family,” Killian noted.

“I do indeed. My old woman is _the_ old woman—from the rhyme, y’know. She used to live in a giant’s abandoned shoe.”

Emma smiled a knowing smile. “And she had so many children she didn’t know what do.”

“That’s the one,” Dugan agreed.

Killian sighed. “And once again the people around me are quoting things I’ve never heard of.”

“Don’t worry, babe.” Emma gave his arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll explain it to you when we get home.”

Dugan chuckled again. “My lady had eleven children by her first two husbands, and now she’s expecting lucky number twelve. That one’s _mine_ ,” he declared with unmistakable pride in his voice.

“Congratulations, mate. That’s wonderful news.” Killian clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll have to give her our best when she gets back.”

“Oh, I will.”

At last Killian raised the gift bag. “I wanted to stop by and wish you a Merry Christmas.”

Dugan took the bag, shaking his head in wonder. “Dear me. I’d’ve never thought you’d pay any mind to me now that you’ve settled down with the Savior, here. Thank you, captain. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.” Killian swallowed his nerves. “We were together for a long, long time. I thought it long overdue that I tell you how much I appreciate your loyalty and hard work for all those years. You’re a good man, Dugan. And I hope… I hope you’ll consider me a friend.”

Dugan sniffled, obviously touched. “Oh, I do, m’boy. I do.” He spread his arms and pulled Killian into a warm embrace.

The warmth Killian felt inside was more gratifying than he could have imagined. So this was what Christmas was for.

After they pulled out of the hug, Dugan pointed at Killian’s scarf and sniffled again. “And I see you’ve still got your scarf. Riley and me was fixing on gettin’ you a new flask, but Smee insisted it had t’ be the scarf. Sometimes old Smee gets things right, don’t he?”

“Yes. Sometimes he does.”

He bid Dugan a warm farewell and promised to stop by sometime in the new year to meet Dugan’s wife.

As they climbed back into Emma’s car she said, “Too bad his wife can’t share that rum with him.”

Killian shook his head. “With all those children running rampant I expect he’ll need it all himself.” How times changed.

Did he look as different to Dugan as Dugan looked to him? He rather hoped so.

Next they stopped at the small townhome where Riley lived. Another young man, presumably a roommate, answered the door and yelled for Riley to come.

The lad came to the door and nearly jumped out of his shoes in excitement. “Holy shit! Captain! I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” said Killian, smiling. He lifted Riley’s gift back on his hook. “I come bearing some Christmas cheer.”

The young man’s jaw dropped. “I…I… I can’t believe you’d think of me. Just… wow. Thank you captain, really.”

Riley didn’t have long to talk. Apparently he was assistant manager at the town sporting goods store and was working the evening shift for Christmas Eve. 

“I hope they’re paying you well for working a holiday,” said Emma.

“They are. I get time and a half.” Riley nodded.

“I’m glad to see you doing so well here,” said Killian. “I suppose we should let you finish getting ready for work, now.”

“Thank you. And…and… I’m in a band, captain. Just four of us. Me and my roommates and one other friend. We, uh, play a lot of good covers. We have a standing gig every Sunday at the Rabbit Hole. Except this week, on account of the holiday. I’d love it if…if you’d come see us play, sometime. If you want. Maybe.”

Killian grinned at the boy’s shyness. He hadn’t been so different from Riley at that age. He almost wished he could go back to that kind of innocent eagerness for life. But too much had happened to distance him from that time. Still, there was no need to hurry Riley out of it.

He nodded. “Emma and I would love to come see you play sometime. I’ll be sure to make it early in January. Watch for us.”

Riley’s grin shown bright. “I will. Thank you captain. Merry Christmas.”

This time, as they walked to the car, Emma squeezed his hand. “Thank you for letting me be a part of this. You’ve thrown yourself into my life and my family so much since we first met that it never occurred to me that you might miss some of the people from your old life. This is good. Really good.”

It was good. Better than he’d ever imagined. “And thank _you_ for insisting I get into the proper Christmas spirit. I might never have thought to pay my respects to the old mates if you hadn’t.”

When they pulled up to the block of dingy apartments near the waterfront, Killian frowned. “I think I ought to pay this visit, alone. Smee and I didn’t part on good terms. There are words that need to be said that are best spoken in private.”

“Okay,” said Emma, her voice soft and understanding. “I’ll wait here.”

He shook his head. “Go ahead and go on to your parents’. I may be some time. I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”

“I understand. Take your time. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replied, gaining strength from speaking it aloud.

He watched her drive away and then headed to the weather-beaten gray door that, so long as he hadn’t moved since last they spoke, belonged to Smee.

Killian heard the sound of a television on inside the apartment, but it still took a long time for the door to open after he knocked.

Smee stood there in a faded tee shirt and sweat pants, staring at him in bewilderment. “Captain? What are you doing here?”

Killian lifted the gift bag. “Spreading some Christmas cheer.”

“You’re kidding me.” Smee shook his head.

Killian wasn’t surprised at his reaction. They’d barely spoken since he returned from his time-traveling adventure with Emma, and when they had, Killian had lectured the man about pulling his life together and trying to make something of himself. Smee hadn’t taken kindly to the unwelcome advice.

“Not kidding,” replied Killian. “I was thinking about you and some of the other old mates from the Roger, and I’ve been out paying some holiday visits.”

“You’ve really got to be kidding me,” Smee said, frowning. “You would never… This isn’t… Why are you really here?”

Killian sighed. “I really am here to give you a Christmas gift, Smee. And to apologize. Though my advice was kindly meant last time we spoke, it was rudely delivered. I never had time to make amends before…” He paused. He still didn’t liked to speak of his death—no matter how temporary it had turned out to be. “…You know. So I’m here to make amends now.”

Smee stared at him for several moments. “You died, captain. You kept me alive and going through more than a hundred years of Neverland, and then when we all ended up here in Storybrooke you went and got yourself killed. I just… I never thought you’d go before me. I didn’t expect you to be my captain anymore, but I always thought you’d be there if I needed you. And then you were gone. I didn’t know what to do. And when I heard that your girlfriend had used her magic to bring you back from hell, I didn’t dare go to find you because I wasn’t sure if it would really be _you_ anymore. And I’m still not sure. The captain I knew never would have gotten me a Christmas present.”

Killian’s throat felt tight and he nodded slowly, looking away from Smee’s skeptical gaze. “You’re right. The captain you knew really did die that day. That’s the part I’m struggling to come to grips with, myself. The man I was is still inside of me—but that’s not who I am anymore. And the person I am now is appalled by so many of the things the old me did. Horrified, even. And I know that this is my second chance. My fresh start. But I still _remember_. All those things I did—all the crimes—all the murders. That’s not who I am now, but those memories still haunt me. I don’t know how to let go of them. I don’t know how to embrace the new life that’s been given to me.”

He fell silent, shocked by his own confessions. They were thoughts and fears he hadn’t even tried to share with Emma. Maybe because Emma never truly knew the man he used to be. But Smee did. Smee knew it all.

“Hey, do you want to come in?” Smee stepped back from the entry, gesturing for Killian to come in.

“Thank you. I would like that.” Killian nodded and stepped inside the dingy apartment.

A small plastic Christmas tree stood on a side table, draped with a few cheap ornaments and a single string of lights. The kitchen sink was piled with unwashed dishes, and a clutter of random objects covered the table, coffee table, and even half the couch.

Smee closed the door behind them and tittered nervously. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t get company very often.”

“Quite alright,” Killian said, hovering near the door, unsure of where to go next.

“W—would you like some eggnog?” Smee asked.

Killian smiled. “Of course. I remember you mentioning the stuff last year, but I still have no idea what it is.”

Smee gestured for him to sit at the kitchen table and then pulled out two glasses from his cupboard and a beverage carton from the chilling refrigerator.

Smee sat across from him and poured some of the yellow-tinged creamy liquid into both glasses. He looked at Killian and smiled eagerly.

Though the stuff looked like nothing more than sour milk, Killian put on a brave face and lifted his cup. “To making amends.”

Smee nodded, his eyes bright. “To making amends.”

They clinked their glasses. Smee took a hearty gulp of his drink, but Killian carefully took a small sip. The rich, sweet, creamy drink wasn’t as revolting as he’d expected, but not something he’d care to drink often.

“What do you think?” Smee asked.

Not wanting to tread on the man’s spirits, Killian smiled. “It’s good. Not like anything I’ve ever tasted before.”

Smee beamed. “It’s even better with a splash of rum.”

“Well then you’re in luck. Open your present.”

With shining eyes Smee tugged out the piece of tissue paper and tossed it over his shoulder before reaching into the gift bag to pull out the rum and the scarf. He looked shocked and delighted. “This is the good stuff.”

“And now it’s yours.”

Without another word Smee uncorked the bottle and tipped a splash into each of their glasses of eggnog. He was right—the stuff was much better with rum.

Smee took another gulp of his drink and ran his fingers over his snowflake-decked scarf. He raised his eyes to Killian’s scarf. “I always wanted a fun Christmas scarf. And a fun Christmas sweater. Maybe even a hat. But I never bothered buying one because I’ve got nowhere to wear them. I’m glad you still have yours. I picked it out for you because it’s what I would have wanted for myself.”

Killian’s heart filled with warmth. He’d berated Smee for falling back into petty crime and an aimless existence, but he hadn’t recognized that Smee had no one in his life to support him. No one to lift him up.

Killian smiled. “You chose well. Look—I’m not going to repeat what I said to you a few months ago. But I do want to tell you something I’ve learned over these past months. I had to learn it the hard way.” He unconsciously rubbed at the spot of the scar on his chest. “But I hope you don’t have to. What I learned is that it’s never too late to change. It’s never too late to become a better man. I just…I wanted you to know that. And I want you to know that I’m here for you if you ever need me.”

Smee’s features softened into a wistful smile. “Thank you, captain.”

“Killian. I’m not your captain any more, Smee. It’s just Killian, now.”

Smee’s smile grew a little broader. “Killian. That feels odd on my tongue.”

“Get used to it.” Killian glanced back at the scarf on the table in front of Smee, and an impulse struck. “If you’d like an occasion to wear that scarf of yours you can drop by the Nolan’s apartment tomorrow afternoon. They’re throwing a huge Christmas feast for all their friends and family and you’d be a welcome addition.”

“Really?” Smee’s eyes lit up in a way Killian had rarely seen. “They wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.” If Mary Margaret could invite all seven bloody dwarves, than he could sure as hell invite one former pirate. “The party starts at three, but I’m sure it’ll last for hours. Come anytime you like.”

“I’ll think about it. Thank you ca—Killian.”

They finished their drinks and bid each other good night before Killian started out for Mary Margaret’s.

He stared up at the clear, starry sky and smiled the whole walk there.

After the small dinner with the Nolans he and Emma returned to their home. The Christmas music that she’d turned on before they left was still playing.

Just after they finished putting away their boots and coats a familiar tune began to play.

“I like this one,” Killian said, smiling at the memory of another Christmas in another realm.

“Do you?” Emma asked, wearing her own fond smile.

“I do. Come. Dance with me.”

She stepped to him and took his hook in her fingers as he wrapped his other arm around her waist. They swayed gently to the music in the soft light of the Christmas tree while the familiar words washed over him.

_“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.”_

This time, instead of filling him with bitter regrets the song filled his spirit with calm and peace. He’d never had so much cause to feel joy and hope as he did now.

_“Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.”_

The refrain no longer mocked him. Instead it offered him a promise of things to come. And that promise came true.

That night, and for many nights after, Killian slept a deep, dreamless, peaceful sleep.

(Smee did come to the Christmas feast. He and Killian both wore their Christmas scarves, and Killian was glad to introduce him as a friend.)

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t often write Christmas fic, but this idea stuck in my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. A very happy holiday season to you all!


End file.
